Infuriating Conversations
by WrittenOnTheSubwayWalls
Summary: Six days after storming out during an argument, John Watson returns to Baker St. OneShot


**Disclaimer- **Sherlock Holmes belongs to Arthur Conan Doyle; Holmes and Watson's personalities and traits in this particular story are based on Guy Richie's 2009 version in partnership with Warner Bros.

**A/N:** Post-SH2009, Pre-GOS2011/

**Infuriating Conversations**

* * *

….

I waited.

Normally I would just let myself in, but since last week's break-in Mrs. Hudson had been keeping the door locked. The poor woman had returned from church to find a man on her kitchen floor with a bullet hole in his head and Holmes, a bloody mess, standing over the corpse.

And that was just in the kitchen. Apparently, the battle had started at the top of the stairs.

At the time of the break-in, I was having lunch with the in-laws when Mrs. Hudson's nephew came pounding on their door. It took the boy so long to stutter out what had happened I almost died of an anxiety attack.

"_Nothing."_ Holmes had brushed my concerns off like a speck of dust. _"A little scuffle. Nothing more."_

That very same night, Holmes and I had a rather heated argument that ended with me storming out. I wanted him to drop the case… to forget about it and move on. I was beginning to think this _Moriarty_ was more trouble for my friend than he was worth.

Of course, you can imagine how fast that argument got out of hand.

**...**

"… _Regardless, I don't see how it is your business anymore what-"_

"_Pardon? Not my business?" I spat. I could feel my face heating up, my blood boiling, and my cheeks turning light red with rage._

"_That's what I said, yes. You've made it clear that you want no part in-"_

"_Your investigative work, Sherlock, not your life!"_

"_Will you stop interrupt-"_

"_This Moriarty nonsense is getting out of control! You're in over your head on this one, and you're too stubborn to admit it!" Holmes turned away from me, his body stiff and defiant. "You'll get yourself killed! You'll get everyone around you killed!" _

"_Don't be dramatic." He snorted, snatching his violin from the floor and falling into his chair, twirling the bow in his hand. His tone was level and composed, contrasting to his obviously flustered and angry movements. There was no talking to the man when he got like this, but he had to hear me out. _

"_What if it had been Mrs. Hudson alone with that intruder instead of you?" I stepped up to the chair, where my friend sat tuning his violin, trying very hard to ignore me. "She would have been killed!"_

_Holmes ran his bow hard against the strings of the instrument. The terrible sound filled the room and echoed off the walls of the old building._

"_Believing in a higher power finally came to some use for once in her life." He chided. His irritated expression never wavered, but the horrible scratching of the instrument did cease. _

"_Holmes-"_

"_You've been here for quite some time, Watson. Mrs. Watson will be worried if you're not home before the sun sets, will she not?"_

"_Don't make this about Mary!"_

"_Run along."_

"_Holmes-"_

_His hand again began to move, scratching the bow across the strings. The violin screeched with the frustration he was no doubt hiding behind his calm mask._

**...**

I turned my head to an arguing couple across the street. The man spat and pouted as the woman scolded him.

This is the first time I've set foot in this residence since the fight. Not really that terrible of one, but bad enough to keep me from wanting to see his face. Of course, like every other time, my anger subsided and I began to think about the madman constantly.

"Oh, Doctor, come in!" The landlady smiled and stepped aside, letting me through the door and out of the cold. "Can I get you anything, dear? I have some-"

"No no, that's alright, Mrs. Hudson. I won't be long." I said pleasantly and hung up my coat. "Lunch with the in-laws."

"Oh, of course, it's Sunday!" Mrs. Hudson shook out her grey-blue skirts and stood by the foot of the staircase. It was then that I noticed how much older she looked. The poor woman. It's not easy housing a man like the detective. Living with Sherlock Holmes could turn anyone's hair grey.

"How is he?" I whispered, putting one foot on the bottom stair.

"Quiet." She replied and I started to ascend. "Quiet for him, that is."

"Eating?"

"Not my food, doctor." She grumbled and left into the kitchen. I watched her leave, sighing my friend's name under my breath and climbing the rest of the stairs.

_Six _days. I hadn't seen the man in _six_ days and I was already afraid of the condition he might be in.

_POUND POUND_

"Holmes."

_POUND_

"Holmes, unlock the door and let me in, please." The man was often like a stubborn child, waiting until I was on my very last nerve before he let me in. Well, I wouldn't knock again. It would be easy enough to break in.

"Sherlock, last chance or I'll take this door of its hinges. Don't be a child."

I leaned my ear to the wood. There was a shuffling and odd little noises from the movement of papers, tables, glass breaking…

"Holmes?" I pulled away, hearing footsteps creak across the floorboards.

The door unlocked, but remained closed. I counted to ten and took hold of the handle.

Messy.  
_ Very_ messy, as always. Stacks of papers, rotting food, alcohol, chemicals… all this, but no detective in sight.

"Hello?" Apart from the odor of burned bread, everything was as it usually was. "Sherlock, answer me."

There was stillness and then soft murmurs sounded from behind the chairs by the window. That voice, I would know anywhere.

_Thank the lord._

I followed the grumbles passed an odd collection of plants and cut up newspaper. Crumbs littered the floor. On the other side of the room I could see Gladstone, curled up, sleeping peacefully on my friends unused bed.

Well, _hopefully_ he was only sleeping.

"Holmes, will you listen, please" I slowly approached the chairs, honestly a bit nervous of what I would find. "I don't want to fight with you about Moriarty. That argument… That was the last thing I wanted."

The murmurs stopped.

I took that as a sign to continue. "I was afraid… for you. That's what friends do and we _are_ friends, in case you've forgotten. My marriage will never change that."

Silence. No shuffling of papers. No soft murmurs, humming, breaking glass, or anything.

"Holmes?" I could see him now, leaning up against the back of the armchair. Disheveled black hair stuck out, giving him away. "Sherlock, would you answer me? I apologized."

"I heard you, Watson."

This voice was clear and strong. The very opposite of what I had feared (and thank heavens for that).

I saw him move suddenly as I stepped over a poorly placed stack of text books. I then maneuvered so I was able to squeeze between the chair and the lamp. When I finally managed to regain my footing, after nearly toppling over a dish filled to the top with water, I saw my friend's face.

"Mind taking that glass of water off the table before you get comfortable, Mother Hen? Of course you don't." The loon was on his hands and knees, staring under the armchairs and out into the room. His hair almost completely covered his eyes and his clothes were a wrinkled mess.

"What_ are_ you doing?"

"When you have it, refill that dish, won't you?" I furrowed my brows and frowned, leaning back over the armchair to take the glass from the table.

"And do what?"

"Refill the dish. The one by your foot."

"You mean the one that nearly sent me tumbling into your lap?"

"The very same." He smirked, but did not look up from his crouched position. I did as he said. Filling the small dish completely and taking a seat in front of him on the floor.

This was all very strange.

"Alright, I give up. What are you doing."

"_Shhh_."

"No. Tell me. I'm starting to think you've really lost your mind."

"Ridiculous."

"Then why are we hiding behind your armchairs with a dish full of water."

"The beast, Watson."

"The what?"

"I've never been more serious."

"Wha-"

"_Shh_!"

I sat straighter, my mind working to think out every possibility of what this could all mean. Was he mad or was he testing me? Had he unleashed some dangerously lethal reptile into his room? It wouldn't be the first time.

"Here… come on." He murmured, tapping the tips of his fingers on the floor. "Heeeere aaaaand…"

I must have leaped over two feet into the air. A yell escaped my mouth and my hand knocked into the dish of water, completely soiling my trousers. Holmes instantly grabbed whatever it was that had leaped at us and stood up, laughing harder than I've heard him laugh sober in months.

"Holmes!" I stared up at him in awe and disbelief. In his hands was a small brown and cream kitten, only slightly larger than Holmes fist.

"Vicious thing!" He laughed and set it down on the floor. His eyes met mine.

"There's a cat in your room!" The words fell stupidly from my mouth. Obviously there was a cat in his room, and it had nearly scared the life from me.

"A kitten. Yes."

"Yes? You put it here?"

"_He_, Watson, _it_ is a he. I named him."

"You named it?" He held out his hand for me to grasp. I smacked it away. "So you're keeping it?"

"_It_? If by _it_ you mean Lestrade, definitely."

My body went numb.

"Lestrade."

"Mmm."

"You named the cat Lestrade?"

"What are you not understanding, dear friend."

"Don't belittle me."

"Belittle you? When have I ever-"

"What are you doing with it? Why is it here?"

"I let _him_ in." My friend snapped at the thing and it immediately rushed to him like Holmes was its long lost mother. "He was crying at the door when I returned from Lord Shire's estate. I'm afraid my trip was for nothing. He was not home and hadn't been for weeks. A philanderer I would assume. His wife made it clear that their marriage was in turmoil. She tried to seduce me the minute she realized I was alone."

"Lord Shire's wife tried to seduce you?" I shifted uncomfortably. The water had seeped through my clothes to my undergarment. "She's head of the catholic women's council."

"Indeed." He picked the thing up and stroked it. It purred and clung to his shirt.

"And you're sure she wasn't lying to you?"

"Positive."

"How?"

"Lady Shire always did have a loose tongue, if you remember last New Year's Eve."

"Yes."

"And it is substantially looser when one gives in to her advances."

"No. Holmes." My tone was sharp, eyes looking from the cat to his serene face. "You didn't-"

"Hmm? Oh, of course not. You know me better than that, John."

"It's _how well_ I know you that makes me skeptical."

"Yes, well…" Holmes cleared his throat, turning a very light shade of red. "You've spilled the dish again."

Old news. "Yes, no need for a rag. My trousers worked just fine.

"Ah."

"And as interesting as your case is, it doesn't answer my question."

"Which one?"

"What are you doing with it?"

"_It_?"

"I won't let you experiment on another animal. If that's the reason, it's coming with me."

"No!" Holmes' yelped, squeezing himself and the cat between the lamp and the chair to back away protectively into the room. "No, I'll keep him."

"What would you want with a kitten that doesn't involve experiments?"

"Is it such a feat to except that I simply enjoy the company of a furry little companion?

"Yes."

"Well, Lestrade disagrees."

"The kitten."

"Certainly." Crossing the entire room, Holmes set the cat on his bed next to Gladstone's head. The dog never woke up.

"Why Lestrade, anyway?" I watched him cross back to the armchairs and sit down on the one that would still allow him to see me without much difficulty. The cat jumped off the bed and followed. "Fluffy or mittens too mundane for you?"

"The way it bumbles around reminds me of the man; falling off tables, swinging from curtains, short little attention span."

"You're cruel."

"Well if you deem the name unsuitable, I shall take your opinion into consideration."

"I do."

"Well, that is _your _opinion. I think the name is perfect, don't you agree, Lestrade?" The cat jumped up onto the arm of the detective's chair and rubbed against his shoulder. "Two against one."

"You're infuriating." Silence passed between us and for a long moment the only sound in the room was the loud obnoxious purring of "Lestrade".

"Staying for lunch, Watson?" The sudden question had started me. My head quickly turned up to look at his hopeful face.

_No_, I will not let him make me feel guilty.

"Can't. I have lunch with Mary's parents." I said. Holmes nodded, looking down at the darkened spot on my trousers questioningly.

"But…" I pulled a disgusted face and stood up, pulling at the wet fabric on my rear. "I'm free for dinner, if you are."

The detective pretended to think about it. "Perhaps." He replied.

"Wonderful... Oh, and cat is _not _invited."

…


End file.
